


From Where I'm Standing

by silentxsoul



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: 1.03 tag, Pretty much just Tommy's view from the episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentxsoul/pseuds/silentxsoul
Summary: The thing about Tommy Miller was that he was possessive, fiercely loyal, and overly competitive. It was a lethal combination, and had gotten him in trouble in the past, but damn it if it didn’t make him a hell of a ball player. It’s what got him this far. The competitor in him never slept, never took a day off. He was constantly on the move, training-learning-fighting-winning.





	

The thing about Tommy Miller was that he was possessive, fiercely loyal, and overly competitive. It was a lethal combination, and had gotten him in trouble in the past, but damn it if it didn’t make him a hell of a ball player.

It’s what got him this far. The competitor in him never slept, never took a day off. He was constantly on the move, training-learning-fighting-winning. He had a passion for the sport that was unmatched by many, and as a result Tommy Miller was one of the best teammates you could have. He had everyone’s back, stayed loyal through the highs and the lows, and was there for his guys—his team. It was problematic, in a way, because he was so quick to be the guy to jump in and help that often he didn’t spend much time thinking about what it was that he was doing. 

It was also problematic in that he hated to see his team fucked with. Baseball was a fluid sport, some guys came and some guys went. The competitor in him allowed for logic to override the irrational anger that gnawed at him every time a rookie came up and challenged the veterans. He wanted to win, to be the best, to get the ring. But at the same time, it was hard to watch the guys he’d grown so close with fade away as a newer, younger version of them took over. Sure, he could admit when a guy didn’t have the stuff to compete anymore, but damn if it wasn’t hard. 

He’d earned his spot and at the prime of the team back in ’14. He’d watched those around him prove their worth, but along the way something happened and people started to get challenged for their roles left and right. The clubhouse door was constantly opening and closing on player after player, and it pissed him off to see his team systematically dismantled over the last two years. The Padres of today were a long way from what the Padres were back when he was called up. Some of the guys that had let were well past their prime while others had been fucked over in trades that flopped big time. One of the best right fielders he’d ever seen got traded to Philly for a couple of utility infielders and a couple of prospects, all of which turned out to be duds. Not one of those fuckers was still in the league today, and Morris had spent the better part of the last two years bouncing around the league from losing team to losing team, all trying to rebuild. And failing. Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if he hung up his cleats at the end of the season. 

But that's the thing about baseball. Even though the Padres now were a far cry of what they were two years ago (and sure they had the potential, but with the constant threat of replacement there were many guys who crumbled under the pressure), someone was always vying for a spot on the team. No one was safe; your spot could be next, and if you got complacent, well you might as well kiss your starting gig goodbye. 

He’d never thought he’d be in the position for his job to be threatened, though. Never thought that because some jack off from St. Louis with a chip on his shoulder, that he’d be placed on the DL with a fracture in his hand. The revolving door of call ups that strode into that clubhouse was proof enough that there wasn’t an answer that could _replace_ him. Guy after guy came in and was shut down immediately, flopping about as ungracefully as a rookie pitcher can in their first call up. It was truly spectacular how many didn’t make it and had their shit packed up before the game was even over. 

That is, until Ginny Baker waltzed in the clubhouse, bringing a raging storm with her. 

Her entire being had pissed him off. She was supposed to be like every other call up: gone by the end of the game. She was just a gimmick, only brought up because the team was in a bad spot for the second year in a row. Attendance was down, morale was as low as it had ever been, and they were supposed to be hosting the All Star game in July. How were they supposed to fill the stadium when the town around them was losing interest in baseball quicker than Terrence Gore could steal second? They’d called up Baker and made her the first female in the league. The fan fair that followed was sickening—nothing but a publicity stunt that was causing rifts to form in his clubhouse long before she actually arrived. 

Some guys were jealous, others intimidated. No one knew how to act and suddenly their norm was gone. In hindsight, he supposed it was unfair to blame her—she had no control over the call up. And sure, she was less than enthused by the _Ginsanity_ , but at the time it was so easy to crucify her for the shit show that followed. 

And then it turned out that she was actually pretty fucking good. She was a legitimate threat to his job, and once again Tommy found that his norm had been fractured into a thousand pieces. Here he was, 25 and in the prime of his life with the potential to be shelved and all but cast away by a gimmick whose fastball couldn’t even sniff his.  He could practically see his way out, just like every guy before him. 

(And damn if he didn’t want to end up like Morris.) 

But the truth was that she was the first one in the gym and the last one out. She was in the cages before any of them even got dressed. Ginny worked with the training staff, with the coaches, and actually listened and valued their time unlike the clowns he called his teammates. She was the epitome of a ballplayer, and no one saw it coming. She was _fire_ , passion, and stubborn as fuck. Ginny Baker had one hell of a curveball and admittedly one of the best screwball’s he’d ever seen. She wasn’t like the other call-ups, and to be completely honest he had no clue how to handle that. It would have been easier if she never came back after that first start, if she didn’t hit the gym harder than before. 

Tommy said a lot of stupid shit in that first couple of weeks, most of which he regretted. The thing was, he hadn’t been used to the idea that his spot wasn’t secured. Not that it was his excuse. Tommy Miller didn’t make excuses. He was man enough to admit his fear of losing his gig had clouded his judgment of Baker. He’d underestimated her ability to pitch, her competitive drive, and her ability to challenge the way people looked at her. At some point she’d worked her way into the group of ball players and had simply become one of the guys, without help from anyone but herself. 

(Not that Tommy had expected her to go running for help because the guys weren’t warming up to her, in fact he respected her a hell of a lot more because of her unwillingness to be deterred in becoming one of the guys. She didn’t run to management, she didn’t run to the captain, and she didn’t run to the owners. No, Ginny Baker did what Ginny Baker did best and she proved her worth by showing up every fucker that wore a Padres uniform. And secretly, he loved it. He could appreciate a competitor.) 

It did annoy him—slightly—at first, because of the fact that she could easily slip into the lifestyle of a Padre. It was terrifying to see the transition happen so quickly, terrifying in that he’d realized just how replaceable he was. It was one thing to watch others get replaced, but seeing it start to happen to yourself was a wakeup call he didn’t know he needed.  It was that revelation that made him reconsider a lot about his life in the game. One injury and suddenly he wasn’t the ‘must have’ in the rotation—expendable—and he had spent a long time taking things for granted. And that was certainly going to change, because Tommy Miller was a fighter who was too possessive over things he loved (and he loved his job more than anything). 

Inevitably his demeanor towards her changed—his quips and jabs less sharp and more reminiscent of the shit he’d say to his older sister back when they were kids. He never really hated her, but he’d let his intimidation control his emotions, and for that he’d gone to her after her second game in late May, apologizing in the only way he knew how. 

\---.---.--- 

_He stared at her from across the clubhouse for a long while after the game had ended. She’d been celebrating and goofing off with Blip and Lawson, playfully wrestling with the duo. Around him the rest of the guys had slowly made their way around, congratulating one another and stopping by a glowing Baker to give her a high-five for her first major-league win._

_It was a stark contrast from her first game where guys were avoiding her like the plague. This time there was an actual effort being made, and it was surprising to him. Perhaps it was the fact that she continually showed them up by training longer and harder, by playing smarter, and cheering louder than anyone on the bench. She was the biggest team player on a team that had pretty much shut her out before she’d even stepped foot on the blue carpet. Or, perhaps it was because the team was coming around to the idea that maybe she was more than the gimmick to fill seats and could actually pitch worth a damn. Her stats tonight were proof enough, and even he had to tip his cap to her for her performance. Either way, it was nice to see that maybe they’d all gotten it wrong. That they’d gained a hell of a teammate, a hell of a player, in this whole charade._

_(And maybe it was because everyone knew she was just as fed up with the onslaught of media attention as they all were.)_

_It was after Lawson left to go ice up that Tommy glanced at the ball he’d been tossing back and forth in his hand. He’d caught up with the authenticator and asked to have it just after the last out and planned to give it to her as a reminder of her first win in the majors. He was sure one of the game balls were already on their way down, but it was the best he could come up with. Apologies and truces weren’t exactly his forte._

_In his sloppy writing he’d added the date and the final score, along with her stat line with a sharpie that he’d stolen off of the last kid whose hat he’d autographed. He barely resisted the urge to sign it for her, knowing that it would annoy her to the end of time._

_(And that thought brought a brief smirk to his face as he imagined her scowling at his lopsided signature under_ **her** _stat line.)_

_Deciding it was now or never he shoved off the back of his locker and made his way to her and Blip before he changed his mind. Apologizing wasn’t something he enjoyed, or really knew how to do, but he was going to make an attempt to extend an olive branch because things were looking up their clubhouse._

_And he was a big enough adult to admit he was wrong about her, and that he kind of liked having her as a team mate because she was one hell of a competitor, and she made the best comebacks to Stubbs’ drunken proclamations._

_It was nice to have someone that could keep up with that idiot besides himself._

_Blip eyed him curiously as he approached, to which he shrugged, mind wandering back to their altercation. It took all he had not to cringe as the guilt of accusing him of having an affair with Ginny pulsed in his gut. “Hey, Baker. Catch.” He called out as he neared the two of them._

_Curious, Ginny turned and barely caught the ball that Tommy tossed at her. With a small yelp she grasped the small ball with both hands, shooting him a glare before looking at what is was she caught._

_“Call it a peace offering, call it a gift, call it whatever you want. Meet us downtown at Norty’s if you want to celebrate—most of the guys should be there by now.”_

\---.---.--- 

To this day he had no idea how she reacted—he’d turned and left before she could even comment. He didn’t want to see her reaction or hear whatever response she came up with. It was easier that way. Baker had shown up later at the bar to celebrate with them and out partied every last one of them before turning in just after midnight. She never said a word about the baseball, and it suited him just fine. 

One week later she beaned that asshole from St. Louis, and Tommy knew that he had really, _really_ underestimated her. 

\---.---.--- 

It had started with a playful jab at the fact he was coming off the DL that day, and that one of them was bound to go down (even they both knew that it was going to be one of the guys with a plus 6 ERA). It followed up with her realizing that it was the same day they’d be playing St. Louis, her start against the guy who broke his hand in the first place. Tommy assumed she’d already known how he’d gotten the injury, but in all honesty he hadn’t even thought about bringing it up. It had been made quite clear by his teammates inactions that this was his battle and he was going to settle it on his own terms.

Tommy purposely ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind that started then, the one that reminded him that no one on his team had fought back for him as he sat on the cold metal table while some trainer took x-rays of his swollen hand. That after he’d been hit not one of his guys had his back beyond condolences. He ignored the voice as it reminded him that even after all the times he’d been there for the guys, pulling their asses from the fire and keeping them marching forward as a _team_ when not even their captain could talk sense into them, they had done nothing in return. He’d long since reasoned that Lawson probably advised against it—they didn’t really need a beanball war to escalate in the off chance someone else got hurt (because God knew how little replacements they actually had down there in the farm system). But it still fucking sucked. 

(He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him that none of the other pitchers had his back, or even mentioned that they’d wanted to do something but Lawson told them not to. Hell, he wasn’t even sure Lawson said anything at this point. And Tommy was kind of pissed after he’d honored the code time and time and time again and no one had the decency to do it in return. Every time something happened Lawson would nod to him, give him the green light. Where was the green light when it was _him_ that had been hit?) 

He also purposely ignored the knowing look Baker gave him, the nod of her head, and the complete understanding of what she had to do. He wasn’t asking for anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to do anything on his behalf. He was an asshole to her, well he _used_ to be an asshole. Now he was just a pain in the ass that mocked her on a regular basis (to which she returned just as often). 

He instead focused on getting his mind ready to pitch for Al and the rest of the coaching staff, to prove that his hand was fine and he was ready to get back out there. 

\---.---.---

It was a weird fucking game. Probably the weirdest he’d ever seen.

First, Baker and Lawson were actually fighting (not just that annoying banter/bicker that they did constantly). Then Skip gets tossed _before_ the game even starts. 

Third, to his surprise, his guys were _actually_ chirping at Falcone for brushing Blip back. Don’t get him wrong—the pitch was way inside and towards the Padre’s head and Falcone was just being an asshole after what happened a few weeks ago—but he didn’t actually get hit and the guys were a hell of a lot more animated about this incident than his own. Call it selfish, call it whatever you wanted, but it pissed him off more than he’d care to admit. He found himself shouting profane things to the opposing pitcher, more for show than anything. 

(He was tired of always protecting his own when the favor was never returned.) 

That voice in the back of his mind was back and talking louder than before, making it much harder to ignore. Were they only talking shit now that they were home and not in STL?  Or was it because chirping from the dugout for a near miss was easier than actually having to rush the field to have his back after an actual hit? 

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving. “Talk, talk, talk. Guess we’re just gonna let him knock us down like milk bottles…” 

To his surprise, it was Baker that piped up. He fully expected a quip or someone to tell him to grow up or something, but instead she offered her version of support. “I got this,” she said simply. 

It took a great deal of willpower not to whip his head around and give her a surprised look. 

It also took a great deal of willpower not to whip his head around and tell Lawson to fuck off when he shot off at Baker, “Don’t even think about it.” 

That statement was all the evidence Tommy needed to understand that the team had no interest in retaliating because their captain had forbid it. It cut at him like a knife, knowing that they wouldn’t show the same curtesy to him that he’d shown time and time again. Why was it they always turned to him for the dirty work? 

But he wouldn’t let it show—instead he stared ahead with a determined look while his mind raged war on the wave of emotions that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling lapped at the back of his brain.

It was jolting to hear Lawson tell her no to a beanball war with such conviction. Falcone had already hit one Padre and nearly hit another! It was infuriating to know that they were just going to let that asshole get away with threatening the team, _his team_. What message did that send? That anyone could throw at the Padres and no one gave a fuck, and it was frustrating. And being frustrated was one of the things Tommy hated the most, because being frustrated meant you were at a dead end, you were desperate, and it meant admitting you weren’t in control like you should be. 

For a brief moment his attention was pulled from his mind as the crowd erupted in cheers as Sanders singled off Falcone in response to having his head nearly taken off. He barely registered the exchanging of words between his fellow pitcher and captain, but when his brain finally caught up he realized that Baker was still going on about honoring the code. And he had to give it to her, she was nothing if not stubborn. Once she’d set her mind to something, she did it, repercussions be damned. 

A small flash of pride settled into his chest, surprising him about as much as her promise to take care of this whole war. Once again he found his vision of the young pitcher morphing in front of his eyes, and damn if he didn’t respect her more for it. 

“Excuse me?” Lawson barked as he tugged on his batting gloves, tossing her a weary look that suggested he was tired of arguing about whether or not she should hit Falcone. Miller raised an eyebrow at the look, wondering how many times they’d had this conversation. 

“You’re trying to protect me,” She snapped back, refusing to meet his look. Instead she fixed her eyes ahead to avoid the confrontation, and Miller had to give it to her, the flippant way she was tossing around accusations would have pissed him off if he were Lawson. She knew exactly how to work a situation and start a fire without even raising her voice. 

“You’re no different than those who think I don’t belong here,” she continued. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud (and certainly not at that moment because he wasn’t about to submerge himself into that mess), she had a valid point. Either people around here were trying to prove she didn’t belong in the league, or they were coddling her and protecting her as if she wasn’t prepared enough to be in the league. In his opinion, if you were good enough to be in the majors, then you sure as shit should be prepared for the chaos that comes with it. No one else on this team was being treated like a child, why should she be any different? 

Tommy watched Lawson roll his eyes and tell her there were other ways to make a statement, only to follow up with a three-run home run. Sure it was nice to have some runs on the board, but Tommy would be lying if he said it was as satisfying as hitting Falcone with a fastball to the hand and putting _him_ on the DL for a few weeks.   

And then Ginny fucking Baker went and actually hit Falcone the next inning. Ginny Baker actually hit that fucker with a pitch—something his teammates of two and three years hadn’t even done. She’d been here for exactly three starts and she was already showing the world that she was going to fight for her team. 

(Don’t get him wrong—he was elated, relishing in the fact that at least _somebody_ had it in them to honor the code. But it was certainly ironic that out of everyone on the team, it had been her to do it.) 

(It was poetic how annoyed Falcone was—how he slammed his bat to the ground like a toddler. Tommy didn’t even try and hide the smug grin that had formed on his lips shortly after seeing her pitch nail him in the back.) 

But at the same time that he was happy, he also knew what this meant.

One, Lawson was bound to be pissed that she ignored his direction, and by proxy most of the guys would be annoyed because she’d gone against their captains wishes. A grumpy dugout was not a pleasant dug out. 

Two, it meant that turnabout was fair play—and she would likely be next in line for a hit-by-pitch stat. 

Third, he was going to give her so much shit for hitting a dude with an 87mph fast ball (because he really didn’t know how else to explain his gratitude to her without giving her a little shit—at this point she’d be concerned if he _wasn’t_ giving her shit). 

Tommy was pulled from his thoughts as the sound of Falcone smarting off from his trot to first met his ears, “You’re next, girlfriend!” 

And just as if lightning had struck him, the surge of anger tore through his stomach and settled into his chest as his mind worked in overdrive to keep his mouth from spewing a slew of vile words at the asshole on first. He was aware that there was a chance they’d return the favor—it was the code after all. However, Tommy also was aware of how fucking bad that would look for a team to hit a girl (regardless if that girl was asking for it), so he wasn’t really expecting them to act on the hit. Maybe brush her back, send her a message, something a little less physical. He didn’t expect Falcone to actually toss around the threat of it happening.

In two steps he was leaning against the railing at the steps of their dugout, practically daring Falcone to say something else.

He didn’t, and Ginny closed out the inning by striking out the next three batters.  

Her reception to the dugout was exactly what he’d been expecting—apprehension and a lot of disappointment. Tommy took a seat on the bench and watched as Lawson pointedly looked away from her. Even Blip shook his head as he asked her what he was thinking. Tommy could tell it pissed her off that everyone was coddling her—if it had been any other pitcher they’d be cheering him on right about now. He shot her an appreciative look, but said nothing. He admired the tenacity she exerted, and in that moment she completely won the rest of his respect.

After watching Falcone toss a couple of warm up pitches, Tommy mentally moved through the remainder of the lineup as he made his way back to the stairs, too agitated and anxious to sit still for very long. Baker was due up, that is if she wasn’t yanked. It would be stupid to pull her—she was hovering around 70 pitches and still had a lot left in her tank (and they’d already taxed the bullpen two nights in a row, there wasn’t really anyone left to close this game out for four innings if they pulled her now), but the chance of her getting hurt was something that Buck had to be considering.

His suspicions were confirmed as Buck cornered her before she could get her gloves on, “…I’m going to have Ellis bat for you.” He said. Miller rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to shake his head. Typical and predictable. He almost snapped at the older man to let the woman play—it’s what she was brought up to do. But he refrained and focused is eyes ahead as if he weren’t paying attention to what was going on behind him.

Had he been watching he would have saw Buck look to Lawson for help as Ginny made her case. If he’d been watching their exchange he would have seen the look on Lawson’s face as he pointedly looked away from his pitcher and dismissively said, “Get her out.”

And had he been watching he would have seen the fire flash in Ginny Baker’s eyes as she clenched her jaw. “Quit treating me like a little girl! This isn’t my first beanball game.”

Tommy felt the smirk tug at his lips as he turned around and shot a challenging look at Lawson. “Let her throw another inning.” He could see the anger flash across his older captain’s eyes as Lawson looked away, shaking his head. It was clear he wanted to say something, but Tommy cut him off as he turned to Buck and Ginny, giving them a shrug, “She earned it.”

Ginny caught his eye, raising an eyebrow before turning her attention back to Buck who appeared to be having the biggest inner conflict going on inside his head. Finally, the interim-skipper nodded, “Alright. One more inning.”

Ginny nodded and pushed passed him, shooting Tommy a grateful look for having her back. Tommy inclined his head slightly and turned his attention back to the field.

“This is your first beanball feud, isn’t it?” he heard Buck ask quietly.

“Totally.” He hears her reply.

Tommy had to fight the laugh that threatened to spill from his lips and instead settles on allowing his smirk to return. As if he needed more evidence of just how ironic and weird this whole day was.

\---.---.---

The double switch only added to the weirdness. It was one thing to switch pitchers, but to switch catchers too? He understood why the Cardinals would go to Mount—his fastball was intimidating enough to send a message without actually having to hit Baker.

(And deep down he hoped that was why they’d gone to the bullpen after five innings and they weren’t planning on letting that towering oaf actually hit someone with that 98mph fastball.)

But to let Falcone warm up and then decide to pull him? What were the Cardinals playing at?

Somewhere in the back of his mind the voice spoke up again, this time reminding him that Mount was leading the NL with the hit batter’s statistic. Tommy let low whistle as he inched closer to the top step, preparing himself for anything.

 (Although he will admit that he didn’t think anything included Baker’s insane agent stomping through security and yelling at Lawson to get her out of the game. Or how Lawson tensed up the moment her shrill yell pierced the air.  He filed that odd interaction for later.)

Ball one screamed up an in, brushing Ginny back and sending the crowd into an uproar. The dugout was in a similar state, and Tommy hoped that this was all that would become of the stupid fucking war.

Ball two was way outside.

Ball three was the same as the second. They were going to walk her, he knew it. A sigh escaped him as he watched Ginny shout at Mount and then at the catcher. He could hear her accusations ( _“Are_ **you** _afraid of hurting me?”_ ) and watched as the new catcher stood and took his mask off long enough to say something to her. Tommy felt his jaw clench again, ready to return the favor for her honoring the code.

Ball four was outside again, nearly in the dirt.

What happened next was the cherry on top of the whole weird fucking sundae. Instead of taking her base Ginny headed straight to the mound, yelling at the lumbering pitcher as she went. Miller was astonished as she barked at the man who was now all but cowering on the mound (his hands were even held up in a weak attempt to show he wasn’t going to hurt her), asking what a girl had to do to get hit. He found himself rocking on the steps, watching the scene before him develop.

And then that catcher cut her off, and then they were toe-to-toe, yelling at one another as Ginny shoved at his chest protector. Davis made a motion towards the base and bumped his chest against hers, his face dipping in as he shouted back (his words muffled by the crowd)—face only inches from his fellow pitcher’s.

He wasn’t sure what it was about that interaction, or if it was even about Davis and his pitcher bumping chests at all. Whatever the reason he felt his legs push off from that top step and in an instant he was sprinting towards Davis, lowering his shoulder and tackling him to the ground. He was acutely aware of the fact that there were hands pulling on him, trying to get him away from the catcher as he wailed punches at every solid surface.

The only thing that would have been better was if he’d gotten to land a hit on Falcone. He wasn’t sure who pulled him back from the mass of bodies fighting in a tight cluster, but he wasn’t going to let them stop him from getting his own payback. It took two guys to push him away before the fight dissolved and he was left huffing and fuming as someone shoved his hat back into his hands.

The agitation was still there, he noted as he ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as nagging as before, but it was still firmly settled into his bones. Idly he wondered if the only reason he’d took off was to ease that agitation and release the frustration that had been building up.

(But deep down he knew that it was because he protected his own. He was possessive—they were _his_ , and no one was going to challenge that or come at them without consequence.)

“43 Padres, 45 padres, you’re out of here!” An ump called over the madness.

Tommy sneered at the man and tossed his hat to the ground. Logically an ejection was coming, but the fact that he hadn’t gotten a couple more hits in before that ejection was disappointing. Running a hand through his hair once more, Tommy turned and headed towards the dugout, stride for stride with Ginny. He glanced at her and nodded, extending a solid fist out for her to bump. She nodded back and hit his closed fist with her own.

Their silent exchange would go viral, but for them it was simply a solidification of understanding that the two of them had something in common. They were fiercely loyal, to a fault, and no one was fucking with their team and getting away with it.

\---.---.---

Later that evening after inviting her out with the guys, Tommy took a seat at the bar beside the young pitcher and ordered a beer. She turned and gave him a nod while idly swirling her drink. He returned the nod as he handed the bartender his money, internally preparing himself for what he was going to say. 

 “My agent is sending a check to MLB to cover our fines…thanks, Baker.” He said after a long silence and an even longer drag of the craft beer.

She tensed beside him, unaccustomed to the words as they came out of his mouth. Tommy had to admit, even he was unaccustomed to them—he wasn’t sure when the last time he thanked someone and meant it. He didn’t do apologies and he didn’t do thanks—those were foreign emotions that he checked at the door a long time ago.

Ginny shook her head finally, “You don’t have to d-“  Tommy held up his beer and cut her off with a wave of his hand, beer sloshing in the bottle as he did.

“No one else had my back after Falcone broke my hand. You, the Rookie who has literally three starts, honored the code before the guys I’ve been playing with since I was called up back in ’14.” He said without looking at her, eyes trained on the brown bottle before him. With a sigh he turned and looked at her, “Let me pay the fine or I’m going to give you so much shit for beaning him with an 87mph fastball.”

Ginny scoffed, “You think you can bribe me by offering not to make fun of my fastball?”

Tommy nodded, smug look settling into his lips, “I’m pretty sure my older sister can top out in the ninety’s and she’s a professional nail artist.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, a playful smile dancing on her face. He noticed how she tried to hide it behind her drink. A quick swig and she shook her head, “Oh really? That’s how this is gonna be?”

“Did you really expect anything different, Baker?” Tommy said as he swiveled his stool around and made his way back to the table of guys.

“Your ass better not be claiming that for charity, Miller!” She called after him. 

Tommy simply laughed and held his bottle in the air, shrugging as he went.

(He was most definitely claiming that fine as a charitable donation, at least in his book.)

**Author's Note:**

> The two week hiatus was killer so I had to re-watch some of the episodes, and in the process I found myself wondering what was going on inside Miller's head during 1.03 and the whole bean ball war. It was really only meant to be a little thing, I swear.


End file.
